


all my verses are about you

by shadowdance



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Hopeful Ending, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24863206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowdance/pseuds/shadowdance
Summary: (Why do you still sing for me?)Edelgard doesn’t understand the weight of Dorothea’s love.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 12
Kudos: 62





	all my verses are about you

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday edelgard lol

i.

Edelgard limps up to Dorothea at the end of the battle. As usual, Dorothea’s face is neatly arranged in a blank expression, wiped clean of any anger or exhaustion. Still, the telltale signs are there—the cuff of her sleeve has torn off, and dry blood is crusting on her cheek. Her hair is knotted in tangles, and the set of her proud shoulders has sunken down.

She’s still the prettiest girl Edelgard has ever seen. But the way she stands makes Edelgard recoil.

“You didn’t need to wait,” Edelgard says. They’ve been through this before. Dorothea rolls her eyes.

“I know.”

The time for arguments has long passed. Edelgard sits down, pointing to the bloody hole in her stocking—the place where the mage had stabbed her. Dorothea crouches down, and then covers her cold hand over the wound. The coolness from her palm makes Edelgard flinch, but Dorothea doesn’t look up. Her brown hair creates a long shield in front of her face, hiding her from Edelgard’s view. Edelgard wants to reach out and push it away, but she isn’t sure if she’s allowed that.

She sits there instead, letting her explanations pile up on her tongue. _There were a lot of enemies. You didn’t need to wait. I can handle myself._ But she doesn’t dare unleash them, not in this shaky silence. A million things have created the chasm between them; the war is the biggest one. Edelgard doesn’t want to deepen it.

It doesn’t take that long for her leg to heal. Dorothea withdraws her hand, pushing her hair behind her ear. Her face is so empty _,_ and Edelgard finds frustration coiling in her stomach. Dorothea is an actress; she is an expressive person by nature. To see her with no emotions speaks louder than any words. Edelgard opens her mouth, but nothing drifts out.

Dorothea doesn’t notice. She stands up, tossing her hair back. “If you have any more injuries, go tell Linhardt,” she tells her. Then she spins on her heel and walks off.

Edelgard stares after her. The retorts kept in her throat, carefully built to explain herself, instantly wither on her tongue. Amazing, the effect Dorothea has. She hauls herself to her feet, gingerly testing the pain on her leg. It’s all gone, of course. Dorothea’s magic is unparalleled.

She follows Dorothea’s footsteps quietly. A thousand words burn in her head— _I’m sorry, thank you, forgive me—_ but they all turn to ash when Dorothea looks at her. That’s the way it goes. Edelgard doubts it will ever change.

ii.

Sometimes Dorothea sings at the monastery. She hasn’t done it much, ever since the war started; occasionally she’ll hum a verse or two before trailing off, letting silence fold over her words. She acts like her singing isn’t allowed, like it isn’t meant to escape.

But Edelgard likes it. As long as Dorothea’s verses aren’t about her, she’s always enjoyed it. The rise and fall of Dorothea’s tone, the junction of her voice, is enough to soothe her nerves. She would ask Dorothea to sing for her, but it feels imprudent during this time. After all, Dorothea is already fighting for her. Isn’t that enough?

It should be, anyway. Edelgard stares at her stainless hands, and folds them over each other.

Dorothea never sings during war meetings. Nor does she sing during the day. The only times she does is during chores, or when it’s late at night. Her voice is quieter than it ever has been, as soft as the night sky, and something else threads in her tone—grief, maybe. Or exhaustion. Dorothea has been looking so tired lately. Guilt squeezes in Edelgard’s chest.

It’s late at night when she hears Dorothea singing, her words soft and strange. They’re both in the war council room—Edelgard reading over maps, Dorothea looking out the window. Her voice is a distraction, but Edelgard would rather pay attention to her than the scrolls of maps before her. But oddly enough, her words are not unfamiliar; the songs Edelgard often hears are from the opera, which have all but bled from her mind. No, this is familiar.

Dorothea’s voice, soft and luminous, snags over Edelgard’s name. Edelgard sits up straight, an uncomfortable prickle going down her spine.

“Why do you still sing that song?”

Dorothea stiffens. Her voice instantly fades into the night, quiet as a dream. Immediately Edelgard regrets saying it out loud, ruining the rare moment of peace between them. She may have broached on uneasy territory—but she doesn’t know how to fix it. Strange, how she has no problem bringing cities and kingdoms to their knees, but one look at Dorothea and her words dry in her mouth.

“It’s just a nice song,” Dorothea says quietly. Edelgard frowns.

“You came up with it.” It’s supposed to come out teasing, but falls rather flat. Dorothea flinches, like Edelgard has pressed into an open wound.  
  
“Do you not like it?”

 _That’s not what I mean_ , Edelgard wants to tell her. What she really means is that she doesn’t understand how Dorothea can still sing her praises. Of everyone in the army, Dorothea is the one who dreads facing their former classmates. She doesn’t even _want_ this war. And Edelgard was the one who thrust Fodlan into it, yet Dorothea’s still here. If the roles had been reversed, Edelgard is not sure if she would’ve fought another girl’s war. It is inexplicable to her, how Dorothea can somehow love her but not the war she has created. How she can love the girl who brought upon ruin.

But Edelgard isn’t sure how to explain that. So all she says is, “I just thought you would’ve forgotten it by now.”

Dorothea bites her lip. “Of course not,” she murmurs. “I could never.”

Edelgard doesn’t know what that means. Or maybe she does, in a secret place in her heart, but she is too tired to probe it further.

She closes her eyes again. Dorothea’s voice, soft as the wind, fill the air. It’s not the song about Edelgard; it’s something different, sharper on the syllables. But when Edelgard dreams, the remnants of Dorothea’s song remain behind.

iii.

Edelgard’s mouth never runs faster than her head—she chooses her words deliberately. This way, nobody can read her; nobody knows what her next move is. Only Byleth and Hubert come close to understanding, but even they keep their respective distance. She does not have to divulge anything to anyone.

But with Dorothea—sometimes Edelgard wants to explain herself. To ask her baseless questions, things that needle her. It’s stupid, because Edelgard never feels this way with anyone. But there’s something maddening in watching Dorothea grimace in battle, in watching her close her eyes before killing a former friend.

So Edelgard lets it spill out one night. They’re in the war room again, Dorothea humming quietly next to her. Edelgard swears the tune is different now. She curls her fingers on the edge of the table.

“Dorothea, do you resent me?”

Dorothea twists to look at her, eyes wide. She looks surprised, Edelgard thinks. Like this isn’t something she would’ve expected. In truth, if Edelgard could’ve rewinded those last few seconds, she would’ve. She didn’t think it would’ve sounded so—childish. Yet the question sits between them now, widening the chasm ever so slightly.

“No,” Dorothea says, and her voice is as honest as it can be. “No, I don’t hate you, Edie. I don’t—I couldn’t do that.”

 _Why did you ask me?_ hangs between them, unspoken. Edelgard swallows.

“Okay,” she says quietly. “Thank you.”

This is the moment where she should say something. Where she should take a deep breath and leap across the chasm, reach for Dorothea’s hand. Yet Edelgard doesn’t know what she’ll find on the other side—a loose grip, a crumbling landing. Things seem tentative. Edelgard doesn’t want to ruin it any more than she has.

“Right,” Dorothea says, voice equally soft. It’s one word, but it tells Edelgard she should’ve said more. That she should’ve taken the leap. That she shouldn’t have been a coward.

Baring her heart out, Edelgard realizes, is a scary thing. She looks down at her hands instead. Her gloves are off. She had tossed them in the laundry and never gone to retrieve them. She takes a deep breath.

It is a simple act. She reaches out and curls her hand around Dorothea’s, carefully. Her hands are warm, and Edelgard almost recoils from it—hers are cold, certainly. She tries studying Dorothea’s face, but her hair is shielding her once again. She frowns, then clears her throat.

“We will make it out of here together,” she promises. It’s a weak thing, but it’s all she can manage right now. Her heart is beating in her throat.

Dorothea keeps her head lowered. Her fingers, however, intertwine with Edelgard’s, and she squeezes her hand lightly.

“Together,” she echoes. The promise lingers in the room. “I’ll hold you to that, Edie.”

Edelgard isn’t sure if she can say anything else, so she just nods. Dorothea looks up then, and it’s astonishing to see her eyes glimmering. With tears or joy or something else—Edelgard doesn’t know. But it does loosen her heart, and something like relief floods through her.

“Do that,” she ekes out, and Dorothea nods. She closes her eyes, and a song flows from her lips, something soft and gentle. Edelgard doesn’t know it, but she likes it. It sounds safe. It sounds like home.

She turns back to her war plans. Dorothea’s song, as beautiful as time, fills the spaces between them.

**Author's Note:**

> [insp](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y5YmTj8KDWM)


End file.
